Freida Kahlo

By Milk the Dog.

It rained most of today, a cold incessant rain that bought November to August. We "did" the bedroom and disappeared under a pile of old crap (assorted toiletries, sun cream, cheap earphones, cheap tweezers, plugs and toenail fungus remover to name but a few). What is it about modern life that you accumulate so much useless shit? 

In the evening we saw Mr and Mrs Bear in their little cottage that they keep for Eastern excursions and Mr Bear cooked a delicious vegan chilli with nachos. We exchanged tales of the absurd and the angry and promised to meet for coffee on Monday.

The dog looked cute but also very artistic. All hail Milk, an animal who would not be out of place in the home of a great artist. She has a certain je ne sais quoi but also a slightly manic OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Dog) air about her.

The night consumed me as we drove home. I felt vulnerable and afraid of all the bad things that might spin a web around this impossible world of ours. We are going to hell in a handcart. I want to retreat to a house in the country with my entire family and some very high walls. The end is nigh. Make sure you have a front row seat, are properly strapped in and have your medication to hand.